


The Five Stages of Growth

by failsafe



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, Five Stages of Grief, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Parent-Child Relationship, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:50:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/pseuds/failsafe
Summary: Rocket finds a way to get through losing Groot and watching him grow up again.





	The Five Stages of Growth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeiouna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeiouna/gifts).



> This is a sort of parallel parsing of the Five Stages of Grief as experienced by Rocket when he really didn't have to go through the standard stages of grief. The traditional five stages are: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I hope you like it! This is set between the two films and is intended to be compatible with Volume 2.

_ Hope... and Isolation  _

Rocket had never anticipated being in a position to grieve for anyone or anything again. When he had left the twisted den of his creation, he had left behind all grief for what was lost. He was getting on with moving on, and he would have had it no other way. He had spent quite some time shoring up his defenses against pity and vulnerability. 

He had learned to do a whole lot of saying no. 

He had spent some time on his own. A lot of it. More often than not, after he had left that  _ damn place _ , as he liked to think of it, he spent his time on his own, doing what he did best. Building things. Building things, then blowing them up. For a while, he did this without purpose and only looked up and around when he needed three things: more stuff to build and blow up, food, and sleep. It had taken him a little while to realize that he could create a beneficial relationship between these three needs. 

He could use his skill set to collect bounties, and he could sell his services for money. Money could buy food and a halfway decent place to sleep. He had become especially intelligent as a result of his genesis, at that  _ damn place _ , and trees were okay, but sometimes the dew messed with some of his augmentations on particularly damp, hot, or cold planets. All of these things created him a pretty decent, pretty insular life that led to a lot of days being pretty much the same in a different place. He was okay with that. 

Then there was Groot. 

Groot was an  _ idiot _ . At least, that was what he'd thought at first. Alright, well, the first thing he had thought about him, actually, was how freaking weird it was that there was something that looked like a tree – the kind of place he felt at home bouncing around, hopping from limb to limb, even sleeping in when he ha to – that was up, walking around, talking. Well, trying to talk. All he ever seemed to do was introduce himself. 

Still, he was big. He was strong. And there was something about him that was familiar enough to make Rocket deem him half-trustworthy and half too-thick-to-do-anything-especially-untrustworthy. And so their partnership began. 

Rocket kept on building stuff, blowing stuff up, sleeping, eating, and doing what he always did. Only now, he had a companion and a pretty fine bodyguard at that. For a while, that was all he wanted out of the arrangement, but sooner or later, he started to realize that he had made a few misjudgments. 

The first was that Groot actually meant different things when he said  _ 'I am Groot,'  _ and that he wasn't just suffering from a particularly egotistical bout of amnesia. After that, he had started to like the guy a little bit better, and they had started to have some more understanding of each other. Their shared jobs started becoming more and more something that felt like a life, too, and Rocket thought a lot less about not thinking about the damn place he had come from. 

When they had a good rhythm going, Rocket started taking it for granted. This was his life now. And he liked it. Then Xandar happened. 

The rest of it was history and tabloids by the time the dust settled. The dust and the splinters. The fire that had ripped through him and his – well, he guessed he had to call them his  _ friends _ now – had left him colder than he had ever been. He didn't like thinking that way. It was sappy and thick and made it hard to breathe. Then that big lug of a guy was touching him and he was the only familiar thing Groot had left that was still respirating and alive. 

Groot had ended up dead. And for  _ no good reason _ other than to save a damn  _ galaxy _ that was good at nothing but leaving guys like them alone. All on their own. 

And Rocket wasn't taking it anymore. 

Apparently, the fancy-pants Nova Corps wanted to see them. Apparently, it was a great honor. Apparently, he had to take a bath first. And it was when he saw water – cleaner water than had been in that fountain for sure, the idiot – that he began to get an idea. He had built a lot of things in his life, but he had never built a tree. 

  
  


_ Anger _

When they left Xandar on the new Milano that Quill had received from the Xandarians as a parting gift, everyone was all smiles and hope. Even the mean, green lady Gamora was smiling and not yelling at anyone. It was hard not to be swept up in the mood of it all. Rocket carried the little pot that he had  _ procured  _ for Groot against his chest and he never once let it go. Every time he looked down at it, directly, he had a little moment of hesitation. Maybe he was being an idiot. What if he'd gotten the wrong twig? There might have been some little bush that they'd landed on top of that they had splintered up, too. Then what? Was he just going to stare at this dead, dying stick forever and maybe end up with a weird topiary for his trouble. 

No. He couldn't think about that. 

Maybe it was the rays of the star that fed its life onto Xandar's surface, but before they ever got up a good head of steam, Rocket's fears were assuaged. He saw a very small, familiar face emerge from the twig, growing up and sleepy.

A weight lifted from his chest. Then another weight settled down over him. He couldn't ever let what happened once happen twice. He couldn't let anything happen to Groot, because now it wouldn't just be death which was hard enough to accept. Now it would be the death of something he had seen come to life right in his lap. And he could not, would not, be able to handle that. 

Which was why, some of those first days on the Milano, all hell broke loose. 

“Doooooonnnnn'ttttt _touch_ hiiiiiim!” was Rocket's eardrum-piercing refrain as he ran toward the counter where he had very carefully constructed a rig to keep the little pot steady through just about anything. He had nearly tipped it over, trying to hold it upright even when he slept, and he had needed a better solution. So he built something like he always did. But every time he turned his back... 

“Don't touch him!” Rocket shouted, this time at Gamora. He didn't know what she thought she was doing with that green finger with those metal bolts around them. He was not going to have it though. She hadn't been the one bringing him water every time it ad seemed even slightly dry on the ship. 

“I was just—” Gamora started to insist. 

“Don't put your grubby paws on him!” 

“I do not have paws,” Gamora said, her brow ridge lifting up at him with a cool, skeptical sort of look he didn't really like. 

Rocket clamored up onto the counter and carefully withdrew the pot from its rig and he folded himself around it. Feet steadied it and hands gently neatened the soil around the rim. He looked down at the little, tiny, sleepy face as kindly as he could manage. Then, he bared his teeth at Gamora. He saw the whites of her eyes before she left, but she did walk away. Then he knew Groot was safe. 

  
  


_ Negotiations _

When his fellow  _ Guardians _ learned to mind their own business and give Groot's pot a pretty wide berth – when he was around, at least – Rocket began to breathe a little easier. Soon, Groot's little trunk was a little bit thicker. It looked less like he would snap at the first errant flinch someone made. He became less worried about Gamora's metal bits around her fingers. Less concerned that Quill was going to pull a particularly enthusiastic little hopping dance move and knock him over. More convinced that he would be able to get to Drax in time before he got any weird, vile, violent ideas. 

Water. Sunlight. Water. Sunlight. Water. Sunlight. Water. Cool, damp darkness. 

It was a steady routine. Rocket found that he filled up his days with it. The first few times they found jobs on different worlds they landed on, he had almost been reluctant to go and make some money. He found that he did his best work at night anyway, so eventually it was his favored bargaining chip that he thought it would be best if they did stealth missions until they worked out the kinks. 

_ Why _ ? No reason. 

It had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn't sun Groot at night anyway. 

And it sure as flark didn't have anything to do, like Quill had once suggested, with  _ racions _ being nocturnal. 

He wasn't a racion anyway. 

The one good thing Quill had to offer when they weren't grounded was his music machine. Rocket didn't really feel like admitting it, but some of the 'tunes' were good. Some of them. Groot liked all of 'em though. If anyone had just told him that it was within the realm of possibility, he would have scoffed and told them they were crazy, but in his own, quiet observations, he could swear that Groot even grew a little bit at night if he rigged up a small speaker for him and siphoned off from one of Quill's tapes. 

The first time he heard Groot's new little stalk of a throat make a sound was a low hum. He thought that it had to be because of the music. He stopped finding Quill's dancing and prancing around quite so irritated if it could have that one good side effect. 

Music was good for Groot. He would hear of nothing else once he had decided that. Which brought him to his next problem. Drax the Damn Party-pooper. 

When Groot got around to getting himself some dexterity back, there was absolutely no reason that the little tree shouldn't get himself some exercise. The sooner his roots were free of that pot, the less vulnerable he would be. Rocket didn't really know what that process would be, exactly, but it seemed a scientific enough theory. 

That was why he had to try and get Drax to stop being such a dumb lug, at least where Groot was concerned. 

“Man – or whatever it is you are – you gotta stop it,” Rocket remarked as he passed by Drax, staring right at a frozen-in-place Groot. 

“I do not believe I am doing anything,” Drax replied, his gaze boring a hole through Groot. 

Rocket snarled, just enough to show his teeth a little bit. 

“Of course you are. You're scaring the kid,” he said. 

“How am I causing him fear? I have done nothing to frighten him.” 

“You're looking at him!” Rocket shouted, pretty sure that Groot trusted his voice. 

“My eyes are not offensive,” Drax replied, looking up at Rocket. The moment he looked away, Groot began to tentatively wiggle at the point that approximated his waist. 

“Maybe not to everyone, but you're scaring the kid,” Rocket said, gesturing to Groot loosely with one of his claws. 

When Drax's eyes moved to follow the indication, Groot froze in place again. 

“See!” Rocket exclaimed. “You're doing it again.” 

“I am doing nothing!” Drax bellowed a little. 

Groot looked a little afraid, so Rocket decided he needed to try a different tactic. 

“Stop looking at him when he's trying to dance.” 

“Dancing,” Drax scoffed, expressing his full, unabridged opinion on it with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. He looked back to Rocket. “Then when may I look at the infant flora?” he asked. 

“... How 'bout when he's trying to sleep?” 

Somehow, this seemed to soften Drax's expression. He even started  _ smiling _ after a moment, then nodding to himself. Rocket didn't have the foggiest clue as to why, but he would take it. 

“This is acceptable,” Drax said, bracing himself and standing up, wandering off to wherever else it was he went. He was still smiling to himself. 

“Weird guy,” Rocket remarked, pointing after Drax when he'd made it a few steps away. He said it aside to Groot, but Groot simply looked at him as if he didn't really get it. Rocket sighed and sat down beside the pot, bobbing his head lightly to the music for a while. 

  
  


_ Expression _

Most of life on the Milano seemed to fall into place. The conversations followed similar patterns, but Rocket knew he could only expect so much from people of their respective calibers of intelligence. He sometimes chimed it, and especially when there was alcohol involved, he even managed to have a good time. 

The only problem was, Groot never chimed in anymore in a way that could contribute to a mature conversation. 

Truth was, he missed that. 

He walked over to the pot one night, very quietly trying not to disturb the soft sound that was a little something like snoring Groot made. He spoke very, very softly, hoping that rigid tree ears might not be able to make it out enough to find it disturbing. He was sober on this night, and it was the only way he could really get through what he needed to say without breaking down into some kind of shameful blubbering. 

“Hey Groot,” he said. 

There was a soft rush of air that told him the little tree was still asleep. 

“Yeah, me too,” he murmured, as if in response to an inquiry about his well-being. He tried to fill in what the import of the question would have been. _'I am Groot?'_ he would have asked, in a very deep, almost thundering tone. Rocket would have hemmed around the subject, but then he would have found a way to laugh and complain in the same conversation. He would have felt better after it, like he pretty much always had. 

“I wish I could ask someone about your stuff. You know, about helping you grow up. But 'far as you knew there was only one of you left, right?” Rocket mused, looking over and letting his claw just barely tap the rim of the pot. Groot moved a little in his sleep, but he did not wake. 

“I just hope I'm doing it right. I never was meant to be a dad or anything like that,” he added. 

Groot didn't seem to mind. 

“Or would it be a gardener?” he asked. Then he tried not to guffaw at his own joke – one he could have only made to Groot. He wheezed fairly quietly while he slapped at his own knee. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he said, politely, whether he was or not. 

Then, his near-laughter leveled out, and he fell into silence again. 

“I just miss you. I wish I knew if you missed me,” he said, looking over to the closed, little black eyes. “I don't really have any way of knowing as to whether or not you remember me. If you'll remember them. Why you did this. Why you ended up like this. I don't know if it'd be better or worse for ya, to know, but I... gotta say: I kind of hope, when you start _I-am-Groot_ -ing again, that you remember.” 

  
  


_ Acceptance  _

Finally, one day, when Rocket wasn't really expecting it, Groot made a big mess all over the counter, tugging his roots – now formed into legs – out into freedom. It started Rocket. The moment he noticed, he scurried over to the counter and climbed up, trying his best not to rattle or shake it. 

“Groot!” he said. “Groot! Be careful, you gotta.” 

A soft sound of wood clanking against metal. Groot's knees had held his weight, shaken, and then he'd fallen onto his butt. 

Around that time, Rocket realized he heard other footsteps approaching through the pretty small ship at a good clip. 

“You okay?” Rocket asked. 

Groot made a sound that was nearly the right number of syllables. 

Rocket breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Are you guys okay?” Quill asked as he hurdled into the room where there was the counter, the rig, and the sink that Rocket used. 

“Yeah, we're okay. No big deal,” Rocket said, automatically, as he crawled over to Groot to try and hedge him in so he wouldn't fall off the counter. 

“Wh-What... What _happened_?” Quill asked, marveling. 

“Groot got his land legs again. What do you want?” he snipped as his little, thin, practical arms wrapped around Groot's chest. Groot flopped back against him, trusting completely. He had no idea whether or not Groot remembered him as someone he knew, someone he had trusted, someone he had protected. Right now it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Groot trusted him. 

“You mean he's _walking_ again?” Quill pursued, in an annoying high pitch for his register. 

“Yeah! Or he's trying to. I said, what do you _want_ , Quill?” Rocket replied, looking over at him. Then, there was something in Quill's eyes that he didn't expect to see. If he had to take a guess, he would have called the two things he saw most wonder and intelligence. He didn't know why they went together for Quill a lot better than he would have expected them to.

“I just... wanted to make sure you guys were okay, Rocket,” Quill said, pointedly. Then he emerged from the doorway and quietly walked toward the counter at a diagonal. He braced his hands on the edge, palms visible, apparently to show that he wasn't going to mess anything up. “And he's able to walk again,” he said. He blinked a few times as if taking it in. “That's... That's great,” he said. “Is what I was trying to say, you furry grump,” he said. 

Rocket was ready to fly into a fury at Quill, the way he did sometimes, but then he focused on the better, less disrespectful part of what he had said. He nodded and patted Groot atop his little head. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah it is.” 

 


End file.
